


Make It Everlasting So Nothing’s Incomplete

by supernope



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Valentine's Day Fluff, comic book shop owner louis, dumb dumb dumb fluff, flowershop harry, that's.....literally it okay bye, this is so dumb i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernope/pseuds/supernope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to be conspicuous so he doesn’t startle him, Harry sidles up to Louis and asks, “How’s it going?”</p><p>“Alright,” Louis muses, turning his head so he can smile at Harry. “I wish there were explanations about what each of the flowers mean on labels or something, though.”</p><p>A thrill runs up Harry’s spine, and he can’t quite temper the grin that spreads across his face as he asks, “Well, I could tell you, if you’d like?”</p><p>“Oh, only if you have time, I don’t want to keep you away from your work -”</p><p>“Louis,” Harry laughs, gesturing around the empty shop. “There is nobody here and, as luck would have it, there is literally nothing I would like more than to talk to you about flowers.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make It Everlasting So Nothing’s Incomplete

**Author's Note:**

> Everything is crap, I just couldn't let this fic idea go. I'm so sorry. Also everything I know about flower shops I learned from Nora Roberts. Happy Valentine's Day!!

“Harry. Harry. _Harry_. Harry!”

Harry starts and whirls around when his earbuds are yanked out of his ears, pruning sheers held aloft - as if he would ever actually use them on someone. His shoulders slump when he just finds Niall standing there, eyebrows raised and earbuds in hand. He rests his free hand over his racing heart and takes a slow, deep breath to try and calm it.

“What is it, Niall?” His voice doesn’t tremble at all, he is Totally Cool.

“There’s a delivery for you.” Niall thumbs over his shoulder while handing the earphones back to Harry. “They won’t let me sign for it.”

With a confused frown, Harry drops the rose he had been dethorning back into the bucket and takes off his gloves. The front room of the shop is empty but for a sodden man staring intensely at a display of gerbera daisies and the delivery man, who’s scuffing his toes as he waits for Harry to come sign for the stack of boxes by his feet.

“Hello, Liam,” Harry greets cheerfully, holding a hand out for the clipboard. “Staying dry?”

“Trying to,” Liam shrugs, passing it over so that Harry can scribble his signature on the indicated line. Liam hands him a couple of envelopes with return receipts, peers around the shop that’s been overtaken by everything pink and red and asks, “Gearing up for Valentine’s Day, eh?”

Harry smiles and kicks at one of the boxes. “Trying to. We can never really prepare, no matter how much we do.”

He hands the clipboard back to Liam and doesn’t waste time before dropping to his knees to inspect the boxes. “Niall?” Harry calls out, waving a hand around blindly as he glances over a few of the shipping labels. “Can you pass me some scissors?”

Niall sets the handle of a pair of hot pink scissors in his hand and Harry cuts the first box open carefully, then plunges his hands inside and pulls out fat spools of glossy ribbon in varying shades of pink, red, and white. He considers how they would look in his hair as he sets them carefully back in the box. Box two is filled to the brim with water tubes for the single stems they’ll be selling, and numbers three and four with vases and baskets, boxes of all shapes and sizes for their Valentine’s Day arrangements. Harry drags the last box closer and cuts it open, pulls the flaps aside to reveal -

“Comic books?”

Puzzled, Harry stares down at them, rifles through issues of _The Amazing Spiderman_ , _The Justice League_ , and several titles that Harry doesn’t recognize. Rolling his eyes, he sighs, “Zayn.”

Niall walks over so that he can peer over Harry’s shoulder. “You sure? That’s a lot of comics.” He bends over and flips a few corners aside. “Ooh, Zayn has been telling me about the latest Justice League issue, can I just -”

Harry slaps his hand away and pushes the box out of Niall’s reach, then flips it shut so that he can read the shipping label. Baffled, he reads out, “Louis Tomlinson?”

Hand on his shoulder, Niall bends over Harry so that he can read the label more closely. “Looks like this was supposed to go across the street. Must be the new renters,” he shrugs. “Guess they’re opening a comic book shop.”

“Would you mind taking it across to them?” Harry asks, pushing slowly to his feet. “I need to sort through all of this and start putting together the pre-orders. Zayn should be here in an hour to help.”

“Yeah, ‘course. Be back in a mo’,” Niall chirps, hefting the box up off the floor. Waggling his eyebrows, he adds, “I’m gonna see if Louis will let me and Zayn borrow a few of these.”

Harry stays out front while Niall is gone, sorting the ribbons by sheen, width, and color and putting the vases and baskets behind the work counter. He refills the box of water tubes and rearranges the display of available vases so that he can add samples of the new stock. Niall still isn’t back by the time he’s done, so he wanders around the shop picking wilting flowers out of the buckets and rearranging some of the displays while singing along to Beyonce playing through the shop’s speakers.

“Baby it’s you, you’re the one I love,” Harry belts out, dancing from the multicolored bunches of daisies to the table of alstroemeria. “You’re the one I need, you’re the only one I see,” Harry sighs, lost in a sea of pinks and purples and yellows, caught up in the pre-Valentine’s Day atmosphere and the sweet, heady scent of flowers swirling around him. He loves his job, loves flowers and Beyonce and, most importantly, loves love. Feeling a bit soppy, Harry casts a quick glance around, then skips behind the counter to start the song over again.

 

Niall stumbles back in a half hour later, cheeks flushed and laughter dying in his throat.

“Oh my God,” he giggles, turning to look out the window at the shop across the street. They’re located on a pedestrian-only street, just wide enough for a handful of people to walk abreast, but the shop still has paper covering its windows while they set up inside. Harry has no idea what he’s looking at.

“Everything alright, Niall?”

“Yeah,” Niall forces out around another giggle - _honestly_. “Louis is hilarious, you have to meet him.”

Harry hums noncommittally as he rounds the counter to throw out the handful of dying flowers he’s collected. “Maybe after the holiday I’ll bring them some cookies. Hey, send Zayn back when he gets here, will you? I’m going to start sorting orders, we’re close enough to the day that we can start crafting them and we’ve got about three hundred pre-orders to do before we can start on stock. And turn up the music!”

“Yeah, sure,” Niall says absently, too busy texting to even look up. Harry sighs. Niall is lucky he loves him so much.

;;

Valentine’s Day dawns unseasonably warm, and, cat draped across his shoulders and purring happily in his ear, Harry opens his kitchen window to the trill of birdsong and the quiet hum of morning traffic. Lulled by the warmth of Oscar against his neck and the way he keeps nosing at his hair, Harry takes a moment to smile up at the bluebell sky and breathe in the sweet scent of stargazer lilies filling his flat. It's been a couple of years since he's had a Valentines Day of his own to celebrate, but he likes making other people happy, loves being in a business where he can help someone do something romantic even if he doesn't get to experience it himself.

Harry putters about for a bit, balancing Oscar carefully on his shoulders as he brews some tea and rearranges some of the flowers he’s got strewn about the flat. It’s rare that he stays home this late, but they’d had their serious pre-Valentine’s Day rush the day before and Harry had kept the shop open till midnight, so Niall and Zayn have opened this morning.

“When I am with you, there’s no place I’d rather be,” Harry sings, wiggling in his seat as he pulls his boots on. Oscar paws contentedly at one of his curls before pulling it into his mouth so he can chew on it. Sighing, Harry tugs Oscar off of his shoulders and into his arms, taps him gently on the nose and coos, “It’s easy being with you, sacred simplicity.”

Oscar just blinks up at him with luminous yellow eyes, tail twitching restlessly against Harry’s side. They have a brief staring contest while the song peters out, until Oscar blinks away and nudges impatiently at Harry’s hand.

“I have to go to work,” Harry says regretfully, burying his face in Oscar’s fur before setting him down on the floor. Oscar peers up at him for a moment and lets out one warbling meow before turning away with a swish of his tail and marching off. Harry wonders if he’ll come back to chewed up shoes as he pushes to his feet and grabs a jacket.

It’s already mid-morning, but the streets are still teeming with people walking to and fro, sitting out on cafe patios enjoying the rare bit of sun, waiting for buses. Harry walks slowly, taking everything in as he goes - all of the sights and smells of Manchester, the pigeons darting between peoples’ feet, the sun glinting off the bonnet of a parked car. Traffic in and out of the shop is steady when he arrives, and he finds Niall chatting to customers, Zayn arranging flowers, and Gemma at the till. His brow furrows.

“Gem?”

“Hiya, H,” she greets, ringing up a customer with an enormous basket full of long-stemmed white roses. “Nice of you to show up.”

Harry shoots Zayn a questioning look. “But Zayn said -”

“Relax, bro. You needed the lie in, it’s not a big deal.” Zayn looks up from the bunch of pink carnations and purple tulips he’s been arranging, says with a shrug, “Now that you’re here, though...”

“Oh, right.” Harry snaps into gear. He scoots behind the counter and around Zayn so that he can shuck his jacket and put his stuff down in the office, then wades out into the crowd of last minute romantics.

He finds a man standing in front of the carnations, a frown creasing his brow as his eyes dart between the pink and the red buckets.

“Good morning, sir, is there something I can help you with?”

The man looks up at Harry with dazed eyes and says vaguely, “He hates roses.”

“Oh!” Harry glances down at the carnations, thinks a moment, then says, “Well, let’s go non-traditional, then.”

With a gentle hand on the man’s elbow, Harry steers him across the shop to the back corner, where their non-Valentine’s Day stock has been relegated. He bypasses the lilies and the tall, elegant orchids and comes to a stop in front of a bucket of towering, vividly green gladiolus.

“How does he feel about gladiolus?” Harry asks, waving a hand at the selection. They have a range of pastel colors, but Harry is partial to the white and pink ones, himself.

The man reaches a hand out to touch one of the pink buds. “They’re pretty.”

“They symbolize infatuation and faithfulness, and are also known as the sword lily, piercer of the heart. A gladiator’s flower.”

The man snorts out a short laugh and offers Harry a smile. “He would like that. ‘S his favorite film, Gladiator.”

“Well there you go,” Harry beams, feeling inordinately pleased with himself. “Which color, do you think?”

“I quite like the pink and yellow ones,” the man muses. “Seems festive, but not too cheesy.”

“A perfect choice,” Harry confirms. He selects a handful of stalks, then leads the man to the counter so that he can choose a vase or some colorful cellophane, sends him off with a pleased smile and a small box of heart shaped chocolates. A good start to the morning, Harry thinks.

The rest of the day passes like a breeze. The crowd inside the shop swells and ebbs, picking their stock clean so that by the time the sun begins to set, the shop looks nearly empty, as if a storm has blown through and carried all of the flowers away. Harry and Niall dig into their last reserves in the cooler to fill some of the buckets, though he has a feeling they won’t be needing most of them tonight. When they’ve managed to go a half hour with just two haggard-looking customers, Harry stops Zayn where he’s sweeping up little shards of cellophane and ribbon, pushes Niall off the counter, and calls Gemma out from the back room, where she’s been dozing on his desk.

Once he’s got them all before him, hazy-eyed and pale, he instructs, “Go home. Get some rest, go out, have some fun, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Zayn opens his mouth to protest, but Harry shakes his head and grips both of his shoulders so that he can turn him toward the door and give him a gentle shove.

“Out! I’m only going to sit here and work on the books for a bit, I think I can handle this crush of customers.”

“Harry,” Gemma sighs, but he just claps a hand over her mouth and smushes a kiss against her cheek.

“I love you, you’re all fabulous, now get out of my shop.” He waits for them to gather their things, then marches them all to the door. “Remember, we don’t open till ten tomorrow, so feel free to go wild tonight. Just remember, you’re obligated to tell me everything, so don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Niall snorts, but before he can retort, Harry kicks the door open and shoves him out into the evening chill with a ‘happy Valentine’s Day’ and a flurry of kisses.

The shop is quiet once the door swings shut again, and Harry takes his time walking around, surveying the damage and picking up what he can. He needs to sweep, but the small of his back aches from being on his feet all day and he just needs to stretch a bit first. Only hobbling a little, Harry turns up the volume on the radio, then drapes himself across the work counter to try and ease the pressure on his spine and stretch out his vertebrae.

He’s so absorbed in arching his body from side to side and the slow, crooning voice of Sam Smith that he doesn’t realize he isn’t alone until someone says, “Hi?”

Blood rushes to Harry’s cheeks and he straightens up so quickly his back cracks and he sways on his feet. His eyes meet a pair of wide, confused blue ones, and he squeaks out, “Oops.” A sheepish smile curves his lips and he babbles, “I’m sorry, I didn’t even hear you come in, I forgot that I took the bells off the door yesterday because there were so many people coming in and out. I probably should have put it back on, I’ll -”

Harry cuts himself off, blushing even harder. The guy is just staring at him, amusement written across his face. His beautiful, striking face. Harry’s breath stutters in his chest and he takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment before letting it out slowly.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “Let me start again. Hi, I’m Harry. Welcome to _Petal Faster_ , how can I help you?”

“I need some flowers,” the man says with a wry grin. Harry lets his eyes slide shut for a moment, embarrassed for the third time in as many minutes.

“Of course you are, sorry. It’s been a very long two days.”

The boy laughs, high and light, and Harry feels a bit of the tension that’s built up over the past forty-eight hours leave his body.

“No worries, mate, I understand. Well, not really, but I’ve been watching, anyway.” At Harry’s raised eyebrows, he rushes to clarify, “Not like, in a creepy way. I’m Louis, I’m from across the street and I could see your shop through the windows.”

It takes a moment, but Harry’s memory catches up with him and he exclaims, “Louis Tomlinson! With the comic books. Niall hasn’t shut up about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” Louis grins, and Harry’s belly tightens at the coy tilt to his mouth. At least, he hopes that’s what he’s seeing and that exhaustion doesn’t have his mind playing tricks on him.

“Well, he didn’t mention how fit you are, so you be the judge.”

Louis’ eyes go wide, and Harry claps a hand over his mouth. Christ, he needs to learn to think before he speaks. The man is in a flower shop on Valentine’s Day, Harry mentally chides, this is not the time for flirting with a most likely _taken_ stranger.

Struggling to bring the conversation back on track, Harry forces out, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Louis. Can I help you find some flowers?”

Louis just watches him for a moment, eyes bright but unreadable. Harry shifts awkwardly under his stare, not quite sure what Louis is searching for. In the end, Louis just shrugs, then says, “Sure. What have you got?”

Harry skirts the counter and leads Louis over to their picked-over selection. He’s still got a bucket each of white and red roses, as well as a few bunches of carnations and some droopy tulips.

“You’re a bit late, I’m afraid, so the selection’s not great. Any preferences? What does your... girlfriend?” He looks up at Louis just in time to see him wrinkle his nose and shake his head. Trying desperately not to smile, Harry amends, a tiny bud of masochistic hope blooming in his chest, “Boyfriend?”

“Not at the moment, no,” Louis sighs, leaning against an empty table that used to hold an extensive selection of lilies. “These are for my sister, actually. It’s shit timing, but she’s just got her first proper job, so I thought...”

“Oh, that’s lovely of you,” Harry says softly, heart tripping up into his throat. Thoughtful, single, and gorgeous. Harry is suddenly incredibly glad that he sent everyone else home early. “Well in that case, can I suggest some white carnations? They represent luck. Maybe some pale reds thrown in, to symbolize admiration for her achievements.”

“That’s nice, I like that,” Louis nods, cupping a hand around a fresh bloom. He seems lost in thought for a moment, eyes unfocused and hand still curled around the flower, but he snaps out of it, blinks up at Harry and asks, “Do you mind if I look around at the other options first?”

“No, of course not.”

Harry steps back so that Louis can wander the shop. There isn’t much left to peruse, even with their reserves, but he’s still got a decent selection of non-Valentine’s Day associated flowers, as well as an assortment of brightly colored daisies. He itches to show Louis around, tell him the names of the flowers and explain their symbolism, but he hadn’t asked and before Harry can offer, the door chimes open and a harried looking man stumbles in, eyes wide with thinly veiled panic. Harry lets Louis go and instead takes a step toward the man who, he has a feeling, forgot that today was Valentine’s Day.

Harry helps the man put together a pretty bouquet for his wife, reassuring him that he is not the only one who stopped for flowers last minute. By the time the bouquet has been assembled, a full array of roses, tulips, and brilliantly white daisies, the man has relaxed a bit, has explained to Harry that his wife is eight months pregnant, so he’s been sleeping terribly, and got called into work unexpectedly when he was meant to spend the day taking care of her. Harry coos over the ultrasound photos he tugs out of his wallet when he goes to pay and listens as the man prattles off names they’ve been considering, all the while keeping an attentive eye on Louis while he stops in front of each bucket and studies the flowers in it as if they hold some deep, spiritual meaning.

They do, though, Harry supposes. For him, at least. He opened this shop with the money his grandmother left him at the age of twenty, has lived and breathed flowers for the past three years. He can’t imagine wanting to do anything else.

Trying to be conspicuous so he doesn’t startle him, Harry sidles up to Louis once the man has left and asks, “How’s it going?”

“Alright,” Louis muses, turning his head so he can smile at Harry. “I wish there were explanations about what each of the flowers mean on labels or something, though.”

A thrill runs up Harry’s spine, and he can’t quite temper the grin that spreads across his face as he asks, “Well, I could tell you, if you’d like?”

“Oh, only if you have time, I don’t want to keep you away from your work -”

“Louis,” Harry laughs, gesturing around the empty shop. “There is nobody here and, as luck would have it, there is literally nothing I would like more than to talk to you about flowers.”

“Well, I can’t deny you that, now, can I?”

Harry sneaks a glance at Louis and yes, that is definitely a flirtatious glint in Louis’ eyes, an inviting curve to his mouth. Harry resists the urge to pump his fist in victory, instead takes a subtle breath to calm himself, then gestures toward the front corner of the shop for the start of the tour.

They take their time wandering from flower to flower while Harry rattles off as many facts about each one as he can remember. He tells Louis about medicinal properties, uses in witchcraft, whether or not the flowers are edible. Louis listens attentively, comments here and there and studies the flowers intently while Harry speaks. By the time they’ve made it across the shop, they’ve been discussing flowers for nearly an hour.

“And what are these?” Louis asks, stopping at the final bucket to point at a bunch of multicolored flowers. “They’re pretty.”

Harry sighs and reaches out to ruffle the crepe paper petals. One of his favorites.

“Ranunculus,” he replies, lifting a brilliantly purple bloom out of the tub and holding it up to the light to show off the rich red and blue undertones of the petals. “It’s native to Asia, and has been used to treat rheumatism and fever. The genus as a whole is toxic to farm animals.”

When he looks back down, he finds Louis watching him, rather than the flower, and he flushes a bit. Louis just keeps staring, though, expression soft and open.

“And what does it mean, if you give it to someone?”

Harry tilts his head and considers the little flower for a moment before tucking it back into the bunch, nestled amongst bright yellows and pale pinks, burnt oranges and deep reds. “It means you find them charming.”

Louis makes a considering noise, and they stand there in silence for a minute, studying the pretty flowers. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but Harry is itching to say something, to draw this out and keep Louis with him a bit longer. He’s thinking of what to say when Louis’ stomach lets out an almighty growl, and Harry giggles at the way his eyes go wide and he slaps a hand over his belly.

“Hungry?” he teases. Louis shrugs.

“It’s been a long day.”

Harry sighs, shoulders slumping a bit. “Tell me about it.”

He watches Louis peer around the shop, then out the front windows, trying not to let his disappointment show on his face. He knew this had to come to an end at some point, but he was hoping he would get a bit longer.

“Well, Harold,” Louis starts, turning to face Harry. “Think you can call it a night? There’s a kebab cart around the corner and a park full of plants you can talk nature to me about, what do you say?”

Harry bites his lip, excitement swelling in his chest. “Yeah, that sounds good. If the owner has a problem with it, he can bite me.”

“Terrible,” Louis groans, shaking his head, but he’s laughing. Harry counts it as a win.

Louis loiters by the ranunculus while Harry empties the till and locks the money in the safe, then gathers up his things. The temperature has dropped a bit, but Harry is snug in his jacket and Louis is bundled into a sheepskin of his own, and every time Harry glances over at Louis as they walk, he feels warmth unfurl in his belly and spread along his veins, heating him from the inside-out.

The streets are nearly empty, but there are couples dotting the sidewalk here and there, hands clasped or arms looped together as they walk to and from restaurants and cafes along the street. They order entirely too much food at the kebab cart and carry their cardboard trays into the park to find an unoccupied bench.

Streetlamps cast hazy circles of light on the ground, and they manage to find a bench flanked by two lamps, just enough light that they can see the food where they set it on the seat between them to share. They trade bites of the different kebabs and share a double order of chips dipped in harisa. Louis talks with his mouth full unabashedly and makes Harry snort water out of his nose twice, and it's the best meal Harry has had in months.

When they’ve finished every last bite of food, Louis collapses against the back of the bench with a groan and rubs his belly. “Too much. Why did you let me eat so much, Curly? I was going to buy you some hot chocolate so we could sit at one of the cafes and make fun of all of the cliched couples.”

Heat blooms on Harry’s cheeks, giddy excitement at the nickname, Louis’ intentions, and the promise of spending more time together. He reaches across the bench to poke Louis in the stomach, giggling when his breath whooshes out of him and he whines pitifully.

“I love hot chocolate,” Harry announces. He stacks the empty food trays and moves them to the end of the bench so that he can slide closer to Louis, close enough to knock their knees together - as close as he dares get to someone he’s only just met. Pulling an exaggerated pout, he whispers, “Please buy me hot chocolate, Louis?”

Louis slides him a look, watches him quietly for a moment before sighing hugely. “ _Fine_ , but only if you walk with me first. I need time to digest.”

“Deal.” Harry grins at Louis, happy and dazzled by the way the lamplight is hitting his cheekbones and casting shadows across his face, turning his lashes a soft golden color. The park around them is quiet and dark and it feels as if they are the only two people in the world. Harry doesn’t want the feeling to end.

Louis is the first one to break the silence. He shifts a bit, leaning toward Harry with a whisper of, “I think you have some harisa just...”

He reaches out toward the corner of Harry’s mouth, but a twig snaps underfoot, startling him out of his daze, and he drops his hand too soon, hands Harry a napkin instead. Harry wipes his mouth, trying not to feel too disappointed. They’ve only known each other for a couple of hours, after all, they’re still practically strangers.

Louis clears his throat, scuffs his feet awkwardly against the sidewalk and asks, “Should we find a bin, then?”

“What?” Harry blinks, still distracted by the sharp angles of Louis’ cheekbones and jaw, the clean laundry scent of him, the way his expression softens every time their eyes meet. They don’t feel like strangers.

Louis laughs and pats Harry’s knee, palm warm through the denim of his jeans. Harry wants to grab his hand and twine their fingers together, so much that his fingertips tingle with it. “Come on, Curly, let’s go for a walk.”

They dump their food trays in a bin a few meters away, then start off down the path heading deeper into the park. Lamps dot the sidewalk so that they’re never in complete darkness, but it gets colder the deeper they go, and Harry shivers in his coat.

“Cold?” Louis asks, holding his arm out for Harry to take.

Unable to stop a silly grin from spreading across his face, Harry loops his arm through Louis’ and grasps it with his opposite hand, shuffling in close so that they can share body heat. Their breaths mist in front of their faces on every exhale, but their movements sync up and Louis knocks their hips together every once in a while as conversation flows aimlessly between them, and Harry feels nothing but warm.

“So why flowers?” Louis asks as they round a corner on the path and find themselves at the park exit.

“Why comic books?” Harry counters, gripping Louis’ arm just a bit tighter. He hopes Louis doesn’t intend to pull away once they reach the street.

Louis shrugs carefully, not hard enough to dislodge Harry’s hands, and says, “I don’t know, really. A comic book shop was the first job I found when I moved to Manchester. I worked there for six years, then when the owner decided to retire, he offered me the shop for a good price and I figured... why not?”

“Do you like comics that much?” The look Louis gives him is both amused and secretive, and Harry scowls. “What is that face supposed to mean? Are you actually a superhero? Is Louis Tomlinson a secret identity?”

Grinning, Louis pats the back of Harry’s hand, then just leaves it there. Heat spirals up Harry’s arm, tingling in his veins and setting his blood fizzing.

“Let’s go get something to drink,” Louis says in lieu of an answer, and Harry fights the urge to pout again. He lets Louis lead him to a nearby cafe, though, and has to duck his head to hide a smile when the host refers to him as Louis’ boyfriend and Louis doesn’t bother to correct him. He’s fairly certain that _they_ have somehow become a Valentine’s Day cliche, but he doesn’t mind one bit.

 

“Look at them,” Louis whispers, leaning in close. Harry can feel Louis’ breath against his neck, the feather-light brush of Louis’ hair against his cheek, and he nearly forgets to follow Louis’ line of vision, too absorbed in Louis’ proximity, in the way their arms are pressed together, elbow to shoulder, and the wintery gray-blue of Louis’ eyes. They’ve been sitting in the cafe for nearly two hours, drinking hot chocolate and making up stories for the couples seated throughout the small room. They’ve gotten increasingly more dramatic as the night has worn on, and Harry’s cheeks ache from smiling so much.

He manages to drag his attention away from Louis though, focuses in on a couple in the back corner of the shop, making out furiously.

“Well, that’s...”

“Overkill,” Louis supplies, but Harry just tilts his head to the side, considers the way the guy is cupping the girl’s face and she has her hands on his knees.

“I don’t know,” he muses. “They look kind of sweet. Maybe they’re celebrating an anniversary, or have just gotten engaged. They look happy.”

“Oi, Styles, you’ve gone soft. Must be all of this hot chocolate, all of the love in the air.” Harry turns a besotted grin on Louis, already too far gone to worry about controlling himself. Louis is just so _wonderful_ \- light and funny and kind and attentive. Harry never wants this night to end.

He turns back to look at the couple, and he gasps when he sees the girl pull back and wave something around. “Oh! Louis, look. She’s just told him they’re having a baby, that’s so much better than an anniversary.” His heart twists happily in his chest, and he blurts out without thinking, “I want babies.”

The look Louis gives him is startled, and Harry slaps a hand over his face, rushes to add, “I don’t mean - I just mean in general, not that. We’ve only just met, I’m not asking you to have babies with me, I swear. Oh, God.”

Harry slumps down in his seat, cheeks flaming red, and wishes desperately that the floor would just open up and swallow him. He’s half expecting Louis to tear out of there and never show his face in Harry’s shop again, but to his complete and utter surprise, Louis cups a hand around the back of his neck and squeezes, asks, “You’re what, twenty-two?”

“Twenty-three,” Harry corrects, eyes on the table while he traces patterns into the wood. He’s still too mortified to meet Louis’ eyes.

“I think you have time,” Louis soothes, scratching his neck lightly.

Harry shivers and leans back into his touch, slurs, “Have to find someone who’ll give me babies, first.”

“I would give you babies,” Louis murmurs, and Harry’s eyes fly open as he turns to look at Louis. Louis’ expression is completely serious. Harry’s heart crawls up into his throat, making it hard for him to breathe. “I mean,” Louis continues, “we’d have to get to know each other first, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry parrots, voice faint. He’s not quite sure how to respond. Louis changes the subject after that, casual as anything, but he leaves his hand on the back of Harry’s neck, warm and comforting.

Conversation shifts, turns to work and family, and before they realize it, it’s gone ten o’clock and their cups have been empty for ages. Harry considers asking for another, just to drag this out a bit, but Louis shrugs his coat back on and says, “It’s getting late, isn’t it? Come on, then, up you go.”

“Oh,” Harry frowns, watching Louis dumbly as he pushes back from the table and grabs their empty cups. “Are we leaving?”

“It’s half-ten and we’ve been surrounded by people in love on Valentine’s Day for the past few hours,” Louis deadpans. “We need some fresh air.”

Corners of his mouth still turned down, Harry stands and follows Louis back out into the damp, wintery air.

“Not a fan of love?” he asks, trying his best to sound casual.

Louis shrugs, answers, “It’s not that. It sounds great in theory, I’ve just never really experienced it in practice.”

Harry’s heart twists at the emptiness of Louis’ words and he thinks, _stay with me and maybe I could show you_.

They stand outside the cafe in silence for a few minutes, breathing in chilly air heavy with the promise of rain, before Louis turns to Harry suddenly and cups his elbow, asks, “I’m not tired, how do you feel about a movie?”

Harry blinks down at him for a moment, confused. “Do you think they’re still playing this late?”

He moves to check his watch, but Louis stops him with a hand wrapped around his wrist. There’s a gentle smile on his face when he clarifies, “I mean at my flat. We can have popcorn and watch something festive, if you want.”

“Oh.” Harry bites his lip around the hope blossoming in his chest and nods. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“Okay, good,” Louis says, pleased, and they waste a minute smiling goofily at each other before a car horn jolts them out of it.

The walk to Louis’ flat is short, and Harry laughs for a full minute when Louis makes him wait outside while he makes sure it isn’t a complete disaster.

“Okay,” Louis wheezes when he finally pulls the front door open to let him in. He’s breathless, hair a bit wild, but he gestures Harry inside and watches him nervously as Harry looks around, and it makes happiness twist in Harry’s belly, the thought that Louis cares what he thinks of his home.

The room is small and cozy, dominated by an enormous sofa and a long, low coffee table. A television takes up most of the half-wall that partially encloses the postage stamp-sized kitchen, and a narrow door leads to a tiny balcony. Harry can feel Louis watching him as he peers around, so he turns back to face him with a smile, says, “Your sofa looks amazing. You might have to pry me off it later.”

Louis’ mouth curves up into an answering grin, but he just shrugs casually, replies, “There’s room for two, and I have nowhere in particular to be tomorrow.” Harry tries desperately to ignore the suggestion behind that statement, tells himself he’s reading too much into it so that he won’t drive himself mad throughout the film. “So, popcorn? Beer? What do you want to watch?”

Harry grabs onto the questions like a lifeline in an attempt to distract from his straying thoughts. “Yes and yes, please. And I don’t know, surprise me. But pick something good.”

“A challenge,” Louis muses, tilting his head to consider Harry through slitted eyes. “Okay, I’ll think about it while I get the beer. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back.”

Harry watches Louis go, helplessly charmed by everything about him. He listens to Louis putter around in the kitchen while he toes off his boots and flops onto the sofa. It’s just as comfortable as it looks, and Harry sinks into the cushion with a contented sigh. He can feel the stress of the last few days dragging at his limbs, but he’s determined to enjoy this night to the fullest just in case it never happens again.

He’s mentally cataloging what they have in the refrigerator at work and trying to remember what shipment he’s supposed to be getting in the morning when Louis walks back in, two beers and a huge bowl of popcorn in hand.

“I’ve got it,” Louis announces. “Here, take this.”

He shoves the popcorn and beers into Harry’s lap, then moves over to the television and crouches down to sift through a drawer of DVDs. He makes a noise of triumph when he finds what he’s looking for, but keeps the title hidden as he slips the DVD into the player, even tucks the box back into the drawer so that Harry can’t see.

Interest piqued, Harry doesn’t resist when Louis takes both beers out of his loose grip so that he can open them, too intent on the television screen. He makes a vague noise of thanks when Louis hands one back to him, lifts it to his mouth without looking away from the TV. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but he makes a surprised noise when the DVD menu pops up and familiar music begins to play. Whatever he thought Louis might choose, this certainly wasn’t it.

“It’s not very Valentine’s Day,” Louis starts, shoving a hand into the bowl of popcorn and popping a few of the kernels into his mouth with a shrug. “I figured tonight has been a bit unconventional, why not carry the theme through?”

Harry turns a beaming smile on Louis, stomach fluttering at Louis’ pleased grin. “It’s perfect.”

Beer held carefully in hand, Harry shifts a little closer on the sofa under the guise of wanting to be able to reach the popcorn easier. He only moves a few inches, giving Louis time to protest or move away, but Louis just beckons him even closer, until he can feel the heat radiating off of Louis, and wedges the bowl between their thighs.

“I think I’ve seen each of these films a dozen times,” Louis says, starting the film. “I could probably recite them from memory at this point.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Harry challenges, and Louis meets his gaze with a raised eyebrow.

“And what do I get when I win?”

Harry searches for something more appropriate than his instinctive response. He’s not sure how Louis would react to the offer of a congratulatory blowjob from someone he’s only just met. In the end, he settles on, “I’ll cook you dinner.”

Louis makes a considering noise, then asks, “And if I lose?”

“You cook me dinner?”

Louis snorts. “I’m not sure that’s something to celebrate with, but I can give it a go. There’s a recipe I’ve been meaning to try, but it’s not the same when you’re just cooking for one person.”

“It’s a deal, then,” Harry nods. Amusement bubbling up in his chest, he shifts around in his seat so that he’s half-facing Louis and waits for him to begin. He bursts into laughter when Louis begins to read off the title screen in an over-the top, exaggeratedly deep voice.

“It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, striking from a hidden base -”

“Very impressive,” Harry cuts him off, giggling around the mouth of his beer bottle. “I wasn’t sure you could read, thank you for clarifying that.”

“ _Harold_ ,” Louis chastises, scooting a bit closer so that he can poke him in the side. “You’re interrupting. If you’re trying to make me lose by distracting me, I’ll have you know that’s cheating.”

Harry lets out an affronted gasp. “I would never!”

“I don’t believe you,” Louis grins, suddenly much closer than he had been. The lights from the TV sap the room of color and reflect in Louis’ eyes, play off the planes of his face, and Harry forgets how to breathe. Before he can make a move, either lean in or shift away, the television starts to beep and a mechanical voice begins to speak.

“Did you hear that?” Louis recites along with the voice on the screen, not even bothering to look at it. He’s still much too close, is still watching Harry, expression soft and unreadable. “They’ve shut down the main reactor. We’ll be destroyed for sure. This is madness!”

Harry feels something swell and burst in his chest for this lovely, ridiculous boy.

He spends the first half of the movie watching Louis and only glancing back at the screen occasionally. Louis is far more entertaining, with his dramatic inflection and waggling eyebrows. He only begins to falter toward the middle, after over an hour of reciting lines nearly perfectly, and Harry decides to give him an out so that he can relax for the rest of the film.

He gestures toward the screen with a handful of popcorn during a break in dialogue, says casually, “You know, for Halloween last year, I almost went dressed as Leia in her gold bikini.”

Satisfaction curls in his belly when Louis chokes on his beer and has to stop reciting lines so that he can catch his breath. His eyes are watering when he looks back up at Harry and asks, “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs. “It’s not as fun when you don’t have someone to dress up as your Han Solo. I already have the outfit, though.”

Louis just watches him for a moment before shaking his head. There’s something like awe in his voice when he says, “You are something else, Styles.”

“Something good, I hope,” Harry murmurs, watching Louis from beneath his lashes.

“Something very good,” Louis confirms, just loud enough to be heard over the sounds of Luke and Leia talking on screen.

There’s a moment there, caught up in breathless suspense, where Harry thinks, _maybe_. Where he hopes that Louis will lean in, close that distance between them and kiss him. But then in a blink he’s gone, stumbling to his feet and gesturing broadly at their empty beer bottles where they’re lined up on the coffee table.

“More beer?” he asks, voice too loud in the small room. Harry just nods and watches him go, too confused and disappointed to be able to reason out what just happened.

When Louis returns, though, fresh beers in hand, he nudges at Harry’s foot, then settles as close to him as he can possibly get, so that they’re pressed together from shoulder to hip to knee. Louis’ warmth and the weight of him against his side, the clean, spicy scent of him lulls Harry into a light doze within minutes.

He comes to in bursts - Luke trying to convince Han to stay, his head tipped back against the top of the sofa; Luke shooting at the Death Star’s weak spot, his cheek resting on Louis’ shoulder and Louis’ arm wrapped around him; Leia placing the medal around Han’s neck, and Louis’ head is resting on his, grip on his shoulders slack and posture loose in sleep. Distantly aware that he should probably go home, or at least turn the movie off and let Louis go to his bed, Harry shifts a little in his spot, sinks lower on the cushions so that he can bury his face in Louis’ shoulder, and falls back asleep.

~

Harry wakes to sun streaming in through the window and birds chirping, and he snuggles back against the person spooned up behind him, happiness light in his chest, before he remembers that he doesn’t have anyone to spoon him at the moment. He opens his eyes to a small, unfamiliar room flooded with light, enough so that he can see himself reflected in the television screen, can see the arm draped over his side and a hint of brown hair behind him. Oh.

Harry lies still, trying not to wake Louis while he thinks about the past twelve hours, about how it could be if Louis wants to see him again. He likes Louis, likes how he feels when he’s with him, how easily they get on. He also thinks Louis is gorgeous and would quite like to suck his cock, but that can wait, he supposes.

After lying there quietly for a few minutes, trying to memorize the feel of Louis’ arm around him, the way they fit together, he decides to surprise Louis with breakfast. He eases out of Louis’ grip as slowly as possible, then turns to watch him to make sure he doesn’t wake, gets caught in the way the morning sun is glinting off his hair, the tips of his eyelashes, the way the corners of his mouth are curved up in sleep and his body is still curled loosely around the empty space where Harry had been.

His chest aches a bit, but he shakes it off and turns to pad across the room so that he can forage in Louis’ kitchen for something he can turn into a decent meal. He flips the light on in the tiny kitchen and lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched yell. In the corner of the small room is a life-sized cardboard stand-up of Spiderman, terrifying in its unexpected presence. Harry collapses back against the counter, hand over his racing heart as he tries to calm down.

Louis shuffles in before the red has faded from Harry’s cheeks, rubbing at his eyes and grumbling, “What’s wrong, Hazza?”

Harry gestures wordlessly at Spiderman and Louis grins sheepishly, then walks over to run a soothing hand down Harry’s arm.

“Well, you asked if I really like comic books...”

“A little warning would have been nice,” Harry grouses, but he leans into Louis’ touch, heart rate finally slowing.

“Well, I didn’t know you’d be staying the night, did I?”

Harry’s face colors again, this time with embarrassment. He scuffs a socked toe against the cold kitchen floor and mumbles, “Sorry, I didn’t -”

Louis cuts him off with a hand on his waist. His expression is earnest when he says, “Hey, last night was really fun. I’m glad you stayed.” They stand there just staring at each other for a minute before Louis grins, bright and happy, and chirps, “Now I think you owe me a meal?”

“I owe you dinner,” Harry corrects, moving reluctantly out of Louis’ grip and over to the refrigerator.

“I’ll accept breakfast instead. Do you want tea?”

“Sure,” Harry mumbles, head stuck in the fridge. The contents are distressingly spare, limited to a carton of eggs, some cheese that doesn’t look _too_ dodgy, a carton of milk, and a handful of takeaway containers. Resigned to something simple, he pulls out the eggs, milk, and cheese and searches through cupboards for a bowl to whisk them in.

They move together around the tiny kitchen in effortless harmony. Louis brews tea while Harry makes scrambled eggs and toasts some bread, then they take full plates back into the living room and eat on the sofa, sat at opposite ends with their legs tangled in the middle. It feels natural, easy, even as Harry washes up while Louis changes clothes. They meet up at the front door, where Harry plops down on the floor unceremoniously so that he can tug his boots back on.

“I thought you had nowhere to be today?” he asks, gesturing at Louis’ shoes with a jerk of his chin.

Louis just shrugs, hands tucked into his pockets while he watches Harry. “There’s always something I could be doing at the shop to get it ready. I wanted to walk you, anyway.”

Harry ducks his head to hide a grin. He had been thinking about stopping at home to change clothes, but he’ll endure the teasing from Niall and Zayn if it means that he gets to walk with Louis.

It’s gorgeous outside, bright and sunny and just chilly enough to have Harry zipping up his jacket. He turns his face up to the sky as they walk, letting the softness of Louis’ voice wash over him. Their elbows knock together every few steps and Louis places his hand on the small of Harry’s back every time they cross the street, and Harry thinks he could get used to this.

The walk to the shop is much too short, but Harry can’t find any reasons to stall as they stand outside the front door. He can _feel_ Niall and Zayn watching them through the window, and heat creeps up the back of his neck as he imagines their reactions when they realize he’s wearing the same clothes he had on the day before.

Harry bites his lip, eyes on the ground as he gears himself up to say goodbye. He’s trying to think of the right words when Louis says, “I’ve changed my mind.”

Confused, Harry looks up and asks, “What? About what?”

“Dinner. I don’t think breakfast counts, really,” Louis teases, “all you had to do was crack a few eggs into a pan. I could do that, probably.”

Harry’s mouth drops open on a protest before he realizes what this is and cuts himself off. He can feel a smile stretching across his face, so wide it makes his cheeks ache, but he can’t do a thing to stop it.

“Okay,” he breathes, taking a tiny step toward Louis. “I think I can accept that.”

“Good. You can get my number from Niall, I think your coworkers are going to start crying if you don’t go inside and give them every detail within the next two minutes.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he takes a step back and casts a quick glance into the shop. “Nosy arses,” he grumbles. “Well, erm. I guess I’ll talk to you later then? Thank you. For last night, and for letting me crash on your couch.”

“Any time, Curly,” Louis grins, and Harry shivers at the way those three simple words sound like a promise. Louis lifts a hand to tug on a lock of Harry’s hair, and then he’s gone, weaving his way through the crowd to get to his own shop.

Harry waits until Louis has disappeared inside before turning and pushing open the door to the shop. There are a handful of customers browsing through the newly re-stocked displays, but that doesn’t stop Niall and Zayn from volleying questions at him. Harry ignores all of them as he walks toward the back of the shop, shedding his jacket and pulling his hair up into a bun. He needs time to collect his thoughts, and he always does that best when he’s working with his flowers.

“I’m going to do inventory and work on web orders,” he announces, though he pats Zayn on the shoulder as he rounds the counter. Safely ensconced in the back room, Harry heaves a sigh and works some kinks out of his shoulders before pulling out his earphones and getting to work.

 

“Harry. Harry. _Harry_. Harry!”

Harry starts around when his earbuds are pulled out, turns to find Niall staring at him in exasperation.

“Put those pruning sheers down before you hurt yourself, you idiot. There’s someone here to see you.”

Frowning, Harry pulls off his gloves and slides off the stool. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and Gemma would just come back without an invitation. He’s got no idea who it could be.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of an explanation, but the way,” Niall tacks on, following Harry out of the backroom. “I know that was Louis and I recognize that shirt, you hussy.”

Harry stops suddenly in his tracks, not budging when Niall bumps right into him with an ‘oof.’ Standing over by the front door is Louis, hands clasped behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits.

“Louis?” Louis’ head snaps up and he watches Harry as he crosses the shop, eyes bright and expression soft and open. “Did you need something? Oh! You forgot the flowers for your sister last night, I’m so sorry. Here, let me -”

“Harry,” Louis laughs, reaching out to grasp his wrist and stop him from walking away. “I did forget something, actually, but they weren’t for my sister. I mean, I do need those flowers, but I won’t be seeing her until next week, so they can wait.”

Confused, Harry watches as Louis tugs his other hand out from behind his back. Clutched in his hand is an enormous bouquet of -

“Ranunculus?”

“Do you know what they mean?” Louis asks, taking a step closer so that they’re toe-to-toe and Harry can see every fleck of gray in his eyes. The air around them goes thick and time slows down, the world narrows until it’s just the two of them standing in a flower shop, bathed in sunlight.

He swallows thickly, the sound loud in the sudden quiet of the shop. He knows Niall and Zayn are watching, but he doesn’t care. “What?” he whispers, even though he knows.

“They mean ‘I’m dazzled by your charms.’ I looked it up, just to make sure you weren’t pulling my leg.”

Harry bursts out laughing and takes the flowers from him, turning them this way and that so he can admire all of the colors. “They’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, I wanted to.” Louis pauses, lifts a hand so that he can brush a stray lock of hair that’s escaped Harry’s bun out of his eyes. “Hey, I know we did this kind of backwards, sleeping together on Valentine’s Day and everything, but do you want to go out with me tonight?”

Harry shakes his head, too happy to be able to form complete thoughts. In the end, he blurts out, “Yes, absolutely, but don’t get into this if you weren’t serious about the babies. I want loads of them.”

Louis’ eyes go wide and his mouth falls open, and he just stares at Harry for a moment before saying, completely serious, “I would never joke about babies.”

“Oh.” Hope and excitement bloom in Harry’s chest, and he takes another step closer, breathes, “Good.”

“Just kiss him already,” Niall shouts from the back of the shop, and Harry’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. Before he can turn to glare at Niall, though, Louis wraps a hand around the back of his neck, crushing the flowers between them as he tugs Harry into a kiss.

Humming happily, Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ neck and sinks into the kiss, barely aware of the bouquet of ranunculus falling to the floor between them. Normally he would frown upon mistreatment of flowers, but he thinks he can make an exception just this once.

Harry presses back against Louis hands where they’re splayed against the small of his back, wonders if it would be too inappropriate to take off for the rest of the day. Smiling helplessly into the kiss, Harry thinks back on the last twenty-four hours, can’t stop the giddy laughter that bubbles up in his throat. He may not have had his own romantic Valentine’s Day, but what he got out of it was much, much better.

**Author's Note:**

> If you got through this, I appreciate you very much! Most of this was written in the middle of the night, so any mistakes in the fic are my own. [Come say hi](http://supernope.tumblr.com/), if you'd like!


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